


he's on her case

by Kavi Leighanna (kleighanna)



Series: Homecoming [2]
Category: Criminal Minds
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance, Series, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 01:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/831050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kleighanna/pseuds/Kavi%20Leighanna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second time it happens, he's on her case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	he's on her case

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS NOT NEW!  
> I've elected to split the series into its individual parts. Apologies if I got you all excited and now there's nothing.

The second time, he's on her case.

It sounds much more pleasurable than it is, really, but it's terrorism. She's got the history – both with the subject and the team – and the language. It's just, she assumes, easier.

Which is a load of crock.

It's not easier for her.

A lot of their first time kind of haunts her. She remembers it, so very vividly. She can remember every stroke of his hands, every brush of his mouth and of course it's not because that's the only thing that's been keeping her moving forward since that night. Phantom lips, phantom fingers and sometimes, if she thinks hard enough, even his smell is there.

But she's the queen of compartmentalization.

She's cordial, even welcoming, which is hilarious since technically she's the visitor. The team welcomes her back the same way they did the first time and she even gets the warmest of hugs from Dave, right in the middle of a police bullpen. She thinks nothing of it, because this is her team, still in many senses the only true family she's known. And everything with Hotch aside, she still misses them terribly.

But she feels it acutely, the tension that seems to sit there. It's not a bad tension, she doesn't think, but it hums over her skin every time he's near. It drives her batty for three days before she finally gives in.

JJ's helpful enough – mostly because it wouldn't be the first time that Emily and Hotch were up late discussing case specifics – but she's still terribly nervous as she steps off the elevator late one night. She knows he's not sleeping. They're too much alike that way. Regardless, she has to suck in the deepest of breaths before knocking.

"Emily."

That tension hums over her skin and speeds her pulse. She doesn't know what to say, how to approach it. She looks up and down the hall, glancing for people, and when there are none, she grabs him by the neck and yanks him down to her mouth. There's a minute, more like a split second before he's wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her in tight. She squeaks, because it's entirely unexpected. She'd honestly believed he'd push her away. Instead, his arms are bands around her back, his fingers digging into the skin of her waist like there's no way in hell he's letting her go.

They pull back when breathing becomes an issue and Emily realizes she's barely balancing on her toes. Her entire weight is pressed against him and his eyes are dark as they look down at her.

"Oh," she breathes. A smile creeps over her face as she leans forward, resting her forehead on his. "Hi."

"Hi."

Then he's kissing her again, tugging her into his hotel room and using her back to close the door. She can't say she's against the show of strength, nor the way her body responds to it. She doesn't fight him, just keeps her arms wrapped around his neck as his reach down to grip her thighs. She gives a little bounce on her toes and his hands tighten, lifting her and using the door to hold her against him. Her legs wrap around his hips and she roll her hips into his. It's a shock of pleasure to her system and she groans softly into the play of their mouths. He boosts her again, so his mouth is level with her neck and he applies his mouth to her soft skin.

"It was worse this time," she says, most of her lost in the haze of pleasure. He's real this time, his hands, his mouth, his hips, his scent. Her dreams and daydreams are alive and against her and she barely knows what's happening beyond him and them. "The e-mails and knowing. Just knowing what it feels like, all of this. You and me and this."

She emphasizes her point with a roll of her hips, pressing just right against him. His teeth sink into her collarbone like he's just as desperate as she is. And she doesn't care that she's going to have to wear scarves to cover that mark because the thrill it sends through her has her throwing her head back against the door with a thud. He lets out a sound that sounds slightly sympathetic and trails a hand up her body to cup the back of her head. She cups his jaw in her hand to bring his mouth to hers.

It's wet and messy and unrestrained. She groans into the kiss, battling his tongue, threading her hands through his hair and tugging, just slightly. He slides an arm under her ass, holding her up and fisting his hand in her hair. She squeaks as he pulls her from the door, stumbling down the short hall to the bed that dominates the space. The mattress is hard and almost as unyielding as the door, but it does press her against him in all the right places as they collapse to its surface. His fingers slip beneath her blouse and brush against her stomach. The muscles jolt and tremble at his touch and it makes her gasp against his mouth. He smiles into their kiss as if he's proud that he's the one making her shake.

Her hands clench hard in his hair as he trails his fingers so gently, so softly, across her skin. Her head tilts back to break their kiss and suck in air. There's a part of her separate from the pleasure that's laughing at how he's taken control from her, despite the fact that she'd been the one to initiate this coupling. She doesn't even realize her hips are rolling rhythmically against his until he pins them to the bed.

"You need to stop that."

Her eyes fly open to see him staring down at her and she swallows. Her hands come up to his shirt, the sleeves rolled up in a way that's only characteristic of a late-night-on-a-case Hotch. It's easier to dispose of it than if he'd been in his full SSAIC uniform and she's grateful for it. She runs her fingers over his chest, feeling the way his chest expands and contracts with his labored breath. He doesn't let her play long though, grasping her hands and holding them by her head. She sees the request in his eyes and nods, just slightly. She keeps her hands up while he pulls apart the buttons of her shirt.

Then he's pulling her up and disposing of her blouse. His hands are slower when they return to her body, releasing the clasp of her bra and pulling the straps almost reverently down her arms. The change is a stark contrast to the way they started and it makes her breath catch. She moves her own hands, settling them gently on his hips, then trailing her nails up his sides. He retaliates by pressing his mouth to hers as he tips her backwards once more, looming over her with his hands braced by her head.

He drops to an elbow and shifts to the side, supporting himself on one arm while the other traces random patterns over her skin. She slides one hand into his hair, clenching as his fingers cup a breast, weighing it in his palm. He plucks at the tip, hardening it until every touch is almost painful. Then he bends his head, enveloping the other peak in his mouth. She gasps for air as he takes his time exploring, testing different pressures. He's testing them both, watching and listening, repeating himself when she releases a sound he's particularly fond of.

When he finally leaves her chest, it's sore and raw and every brush of air against her skin makes her tremble and shiver. It's a stark contrast to his hot mouth as it trails down her stomach, his fingers tugging her pants open and down her thighs. She shifts her hips, lifting them so he can pull it all down her legs and off. He settles at her hips, sliding his hands under her bare thighs. Emily's breath catches as she realizes what's coming next.

And even though she knows, it still comes as a shock when he uses one hand to spread her open before he applies his tongue. She chokes on air, eyes flying open as pleasure threads through her body. Her skin flushes as one hand tangles in the sheets, trying to keep her grounded as he pushes her higher and higher. It's not enough, however, and she whines as she hovers just on the edge of stars. Her hips push up, looking for more, more, more. He holds off, aware of what she's looking for and pushing her ever higher by shifting the placement and pressure of his tongue.

When she can't take anymore, she tugs hard on his hair. He looks up the plains of her body, eyes heated but smug. She licks her dry lips and holds his eyes.

"More."

She's not sure if it's the tone or the look on his face, but he pushes two fingers in easily as he returns his mouth to her centre. She hitches out a moan, so high that it takes barely anything, just a stroke in exactly the right spot inside and the insistent pressure of his tongue to send her flying.

Unlike last time, he doesn't move back up her body. Instead, he presses his wet mouth gently to her hip, stroking her through her peak. When she's settled, when she pushes into his touch, he grins into her thigh and kisses his way up her leg again. She groans, shifting when he hits a spot that's still sensitive and a little tender. He plays with pressure again, the same way he had on her chest and she realizes he's learning her. It does something to her heart, maybe breaks it open a little bit, because this isn't anything real. Then she chokes on air as he sends her spinning again.

He's resting his chin against her stomach when she can make her brain work again, just looking up at her. She feels vulnerable under his gaze, but slides the hand that's made an absolute mess of his hair to his cheek. He grins at her as she brushes her fingertips against his skin, showing his dimples and making her smile in response. It's a quiet moment, out of time as they just look at each other. She slips her fingers under his chin and he moves willingly when she applies just a hint of pressure. She can taste herself in his mouth as he kisses her and feels her heart clench in her chest.

She cups his face when they separate. "Inside," she says quietly.

He can't deny her, and he can't deny himself, but he still kisses her warmly as he reaches down to get rid of his pants. He pauses just as he's about to slide into her.

"Protection."

He's surprised when a blush spreads over her face, one unassociated with pleasure. "My pocket."

She was confident, he realizes, or maybe just determined and he's more than a little surprised. He can't say he's ever been the type that women have gone after and definitely not since he took on the SSAIC position. He knows he's domineering, intimidating, but Emily doesn't seem to care. More than that, she wants him, enough to come prepared. It wasn't an impulse.

He pulls away from her to don protection. Then he's back on top of her, kissing her thoroughly. She cups his face and despite the heat of every moment since she'd shown up at her hotel room, this kiss is sweet and intensely personal.

"It was worse," he whispers into her mouth and her breath catches as he slides inside. Her hands slide down to clench at his neck and her head tilts back as she flutters around him. She's sensitive, but not painfully so, just enough that his every push sends her nerve endings sizzling. He barely pauses to let her adjust to him before he's moving. The only soundtrack for a few moments is their harsh breathing and moans. Then she tugs his head down.

She whispers how he feels in his ear, how she feels, how they feel. She tells him about every press of his skin, the feeling of his callouses against her hip, under her shoulder. His hips move faster. She slides her hands down his back, clenching one around one well-built ass cheek and tilting her hips. He presses against her just right and she sighs, not because he's pushing her high enough to tumble over that peak with him but because despite how wrung out and sated she feels, she likes the jolt of him through her bones.

"Aaron," she murmurs into his ear. "Let go."

And he does with a groan, stilling against her, with one last stutter of his hips. Then he collapses on top of her and she wraps her arms around him.

"I almost called," she whispers, mouth moving against his ear, once she's caught her breath. "A hundred times, I almost picked up the phone."

He swallows. He knows the feeling, the million times he's reached for the phone on dark days, days he knows she'll understand.

"It means something, doesn't it?" she asks softly, fingers clenching where they're wrapped around his shoulders. There's fear in the tensing of her muscles, like they've started something dangerous and painful.

"It can't be anything," he tells her, even as he pulls her closer against him and doesn't disagree. It's agreement in itself, that their 'twice' is more than just sex. "We're across the ocean from each other. We have separate lives."

"It can be this," she says. Meaning without attachment, she tells herself, even if she knows she's fighting a losing battle. She's going to get hurt, and she knows it, even as she suggests it. "Whenever we can."

He doesn't agree, but they fall asleep there, and the next night, he shows up at her door. For the duration of the case, one hotel room is almost empty. They soak up the time together, even if they play professional during the day. No one blinks when he offers to take her to the airport when they've wrapped up their work and it's a shockingly difficult goodbye.

"Um, I'll e-mail you," she says quietly, avoiding his eyes as they pull up to the departures drop off.

"Yeah," he replies, his voice just as low.

Her fingers itch to reach for him, but this isn't like that. This isn't emotional, even if it means something and she can't reach for him. It'll make this more than it is. She just needs to-

He grasps her chin gently, pulling her across to console until his mouth meets hers. She melts, just a little, and kisses him back. She presses her lips together when she backs away, as if she can seal the taste of him into her lips.

"Until next time," she whispers, because she can't bring herself to say goodbye this time.

He nods and says nothing as she climbs from the SUV, reaching into the back seat for her bag. Then she's in the airport and gone from his sight. He refuses to be the cliché, to admit that she took a piece of him with her and puts the SUV in drive. He has a team to get back to and paperwork to do.

Even if he can't get his mind off the woman a whole ocean away.


End file.
